


Three

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Anal Sex, Canon Disabled Character, Choking, Demisexual Fernald, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enthusiastic Consent, Eventual Happy Ending, Friendship, Gentle Sex, Hand Jobs, Headcanon: Henchperson is autistic, Henchperson is called Rory, Homophobia, Kissing, Multi, Multiple Pairings, Non-Consensual Breathplay, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Submissive Fernald, Threesome - F/M/M, Unrequited Love, Villains behaving villainously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-16 12:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18094082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: Esme decides that Fernald should join her and Olaf in the bedroom. Fernald is conflicted about it.Takes place during Grim Grotto





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a belated attempt to respond to a request for Olaf being nicer to Fernald. First I said I didn't think I could do it, then I changed my mind and started writing, and then it kind of spiralled out of control and ended up being...probably not exactly what the requester had in mind (sorry).

The idea had come to Olaf and Esme almost simultaneously, a word which here means “at the moment when they’d accidentally walked in on Fernald nearly naked.” The two of them had gone looking for their only remaining henchman in the staff barracks, only to come face to face with him as he exited the showers. 

Fernald had been startled, fumbled with his towel, and failed to stop it from slipping to the floor. Although he quickly turned away in embarrassment, kneeling awkwardly to pick up his towel and escape the situation with some dignity intact, both Esme and Olaf had gotten a good look, and liked what they saw. 

“Sorry, boss,” said Fernald hastily, attempting to maintain some decency as he backed toward the door. “I’ll just be going. Plenty of warm water left,” he reassured them, a frantic smile plastered to his face. 

“Yes, all right,” said Esme. “We just came to tell you--” She broke off, uncharacteristically distracted.

“To tell you that we expect dinner at six o’clock promptly,” supplied Olaf, giving Esme a sidelong glance.

“Yes, boss,” said Fernald, still backing away.

“And no salads this time! Got that, Hooky?”

“Actually, my name is--”

“We don’t care,” interrupted Olaf. 

“Yes, boss,” said Fernald again, and hastily made his exit. 

When the two of them were alone, Olaf leaned over to Esme, his lips brushing over her throat, a deceptive prelude to his accusation: “I saw you looking.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose higher. “Can you blame me, darling? Did you _see_ the size of his cock?”

“Yes, well--” 

“Don’t you think,” suggested Esme, punctuating her sentence by kissing him, “that it might be a good idea to develop a _closer_ relationship with your employee?”

Olaf paused, his hand on Esme’s thigh. “Do you think he’d actually go for it?” 

“Darling,” said Esme in concern, “it isn’t like you to doubt yourself. Besides, Hooky will do anything you tell him. Or haven’t you noticed that he’s utterly in love with you? And I didn’t say you could stop,” she said dangerously, glancing down at the arrested progress of his hand. 

Thus was the matter decided.


	2. Chapter 2

That night, just as Fernald finished washing the dishes, Esme called to him from the adjoining room.

“Oh, Hooky, could you come here for a moment?”

He didn’t know what Esme could possibly want. Normally she seemed to regard him with disdain. Maybe she hadn’t liked the sandwiches he’d made for dinner. That was probably it--she was going to yell at him for it. Fernald sighed, but dutifully set down the plate he’d been washing and ventured into the main room. 

It was empty. 

“Er--hello?”

“In here, darling.” That was Esme’s voice again, through the doorway to the captain’s quarters. The _darling_ was the first red flag.

The second came just after he ventured inside. Esme waited next to the door, and the lock clicked into place as she shut it behind him. 

The third, of course, was when he finally registered the fact that Esme was completely nude, aside from a pair of high-heeled shoes and a captain’s hat.

Fernald didn’t know what was going on, but if Olaf were to walk in at this moment, he’d be sure to get the wrong idea.

When Olaf actually did walk in--or rather, step out from behind the enormous heap of suitcases in the corner of the room, no doubt necessary for housing Esme’s extensive and very _in_ wardrobe--Fernald nearly jumped out of his skin. And Olaf was naked too, and--

“What’s the matter, Hooky?” came the unctuous voice. “Don’t see anything you like?”

“I--er--what--?” Fernald asked weakly. He was beyond the point of making sense of any of this.

“I would have expected you to be a little more _appreciative_ ,” Olaf admonished him.

Fernald tried to speak, but this time, the only sound he succeeded in making was closer to a dismayed squeak than he liked to admit.

“Now, don’t play hard to get, darling.” Esme’s voice was a dangerous purr as she approached him, like a tiger stalking its prey, if the tiger had happened to lose all of its clothing. Fernald frowned. That didn’t seem quite right. Metaphors were beyond his reach at the moment.

“It isn’t every day we invite someone to join us, you know,” she said.

“What are you waiting for?” demanded Olaf. “I want to watch my girlfriend fuck you.”

Fernald was mildly concerned by Olaf’s choice of words. He was more concerned when Esme’s fashionably manicured hands descended on his shoulders. When she forced him to his knees, he turned back to give Olaf a pleading look.

“I think I know the problem, darling,” said Esme, now addressing Olaf. She gave a mocking giggle. “I think your underling wants _you_ more than me.”

Fernald flushed with shame. It was true--he’d fantasized about Olaf for so long, had dreamed of a day when Olaf would order him to undress, to submit to him--but not like this, not with Esme, who was cruel and terrifying and--

“How dare you turn down my lovely girlfriend!” demanded Olaf. “What, precisely, is the problem?”

“N-no problem, boss,” said Fernald automatically.

“Then what’s the problem with _this_?” asked Esme, prodding at his still-limp cock with the toe of her very _in_ and probably very expensive shoe.

“Most men would kill to worship at her feet like this!” proclaimed Olaf, striding across the room to stand next to Esme in a dramatic pose.

Fernald stared up at both of them in bewilderment. “But I’m gay?” _Mostly_ , his mind added, if he wanted to be strictly accurate. But since the _mostly_ still didn’t include Esme, he didn’t think the qualifier would be well received, so he kept that to himself.

Esme gave a sigh of annoyance and shoved him away, making him lose his balance and sit back hard on the floor. “Darling,” she said to Olaf, “What are we supposed to do now? Your only henchman is defective.”

Olaf’s eyes shone with a sudden, evil gleam that Fernald used to love, but now it sent a stab of dread through him. 

“Now, Hooky,” began Olaf. “I’m willing to oblige your-- _inclinations_ , but you don’t get what you want until Esme gets what she wants, is that clear?”

Fernald nodded helplessly, although he had no idea how he was ever going to give Esme what she wanted--he simply wasn’t attracted to her. She was aesthetically pleasing, to be sure, but that did absolutely nothing for him. He’d only ever felt sexual attraction toward three people, and Esme wasn’t one of them. 

Olaf, however, was. 

“What do you want me to do?” he asked in a whisper. 

Esme gave a taunting, triumphant grin. “I thought you’d come around.” 

She pushed Fernald down onto his back, her sharp nails scratching down his scarred chest, drawing blood as she moved upward and knelt over his face. She was overwhelming, overpowering, coarse blonde hair and expensive perfume and her own natural scent, folds already moist against his lips. 

She gave an appreciative growl as he began to lick, teasing her swollen labia until she began to press herself down on his mouth. He licked strong, broad strokes over her opening, up to her clit. If he pretended she was Olaf--granted, Olaf didn’t have a pussy, he had seen that for himself just a moment ago, but his mind drifted back to Olaf’s Shirley disguise, the fantasies he’d had that time--

He’d had the persistent daydream of kicking Georgina Orwell out of her office, pushing Shirley down into the examination chair, lifting up her skirt and tearing her stockings and eating her out for as long as she could stand it. She would forbid him to stop, and he’d make her come over and over again--

Fernald suddenly gave a muffled cry as someone began to stroke his cock. Not Esme--she was busy playing with her breasts above him, and her hands weren’t bony and calloused like that. Fuck, Olaf was touching his cock, and he couldn’t help but thrust up into his touch. 

“Calm down, Hooky,” warned Olaf. “You’re doing such a good job pleasing my girlfriend that I thought you deserved a little reward, but don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

The praise was almost more arousing than Olaf’s touch had been, and for the first time in this whole encounter, Fernald realized, he was really turned on. Esme was moaning above him, grinding down against his mouth. He sucked her clit, and she gave a shout. 

“Do that again,” she ordered. “If you stop now, I’ll _murder_ you.”

Olaf had stopped touching him, but he’d do it again soon, Fernald knew. He only had to make Esme come and then he’d have earned his boss’s affection again and everything would be all right.

“Yes--yes--god, Hooky, keep going--I’ll kill you--I’ll _kill_ you--” Esme gave a little shriek as she finished, then collapsed to one side, breathing hard.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter basically consists of dubcon bordering on noncon. 
> 
> Also this is where Olaf is nice to Fernald, at least until Esme gets jealous.

But Esme wasn’t done with him yet. She picked herself up off the floor and reached for Fernald’s cock, but he’d already begun to lose his erection. 

She hissed in rage. 

“ _Darling_ ,” she said to Olaf in a deadly saccharine tone, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Olaf smirked. “I suppose I could provide some assistance if you’re having difficulties.”

Fernald nodded eagerly.

“Don’t you dare,” snapped Esme. “I can manage on my own, _thank you_.”

She scowled ferociously and began to stroke his cock. “Listen, Hooky,” she threatened, “if you want my boyfriend, you’re going to have to let me go for a ride first, yes?”

He nodded again, closed his eyes, and tried to think of something that would get him hard. At first he tried imagining that it was Olaf touching him, but he knew how Olaf’s hand felt now, and he couldn’t pretend. Soon, though, he’d have his chance with Olaf, would be able to feel his touch, be fucked by him--god, maybe Olaf would even suck his cock. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of that before--it was his job to do that for his boss, after all. 

“That’s better.” Esme rolled a condom onto him. Then, suddenly, she was on top of him again, sinking down onto him, and he gasped in surprise. Even if he didn’t actually want to do this with _her_ , he had to admit that it did feel good.

“That’s right,” she murmured, rising up, sliding down again. “God, you’re so _big_.” 

Fernald pressed his eyes closed again. He supposed that was meant to be a compliment, but he didn’t care if it was true. He didn’t care about being desirable, not to her. He didn’t want to do this. He only wanted to be with someone he cared for--maybe it would be different if it were Olaf saying that to him, or--no, he couldn’t let his mind wander any further. Of the only two other people he could imagine having sex with, one was long in the past, and still hurt to think about. The other--the other barely counted, he told himself. Fernald had never spoken those feelings aloud, much less considered acting on them, even if he had suspected they might not have been entirely one-sided. Instead, he’d held out for the chance that Olaf might someday reciprocate. And now everyone else was gone, and he was here, and--well, that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

God, if it were Olaf riding him right now--but that idea didn’t sit right with him either. He’d always imagined letting Olaf fuck him, not the other way around. Still, this was sort of enjoyable as long as he didn’t think about it too much, and ignored Esme’s fake nails slicing into his skin. He felt a little sick to his stomach, but probably that was normal. Wasn’t it? But now Esme’s expression had changed, almost as if she were in pain--but no, she threw her head back and screamed, and as he felt her clench around him, he realized she was coming again. 

After a moment, she got up off him. “Your turn, darling,” she said to Olaf, and climbed up on the bed to watch. _To watch_ \--Fernald realized Olaf had been watching everything that had happened so far, and again he felt as if a tidal wave of shame were sweeping over him, knocking him off his feet. No--he’d done as he was told, and Olaf was pleased, and that was all that mattered.

Olaf approached and wordlessly beckoned to Fernald to sit up. He obeyed, only for Olaf to push him forward onto all fours, gently--or at least more gently than Esme had done. 

Now Fernald wanted to pay attention, to absorb every detail of what was happening, but it all went so fast--Olaf tearing open another condom, the click of a lube bottle being opened, and then cold, slick, skinny fingers inside him, opening him just enough for Olaf to shove his cock into him. 

Fernald didn’t understand. He’d wanted this--god, he’d wanted this for so long--but why did it hurt? Why did he feel as if someone had pulled the rug out from under his feet and upended the entire world? He hadn’t expected Olaf to--to kiss him, or anything like that, but he might have let Fernald suck his dick, or at least have taken his time so that it didn’t feel rushed, mechanical-- _painful_. This wasn’t what he’d expected.

Olaf thrust into him hard, balls slapping against his ass. Fernald couldn’t hold back a whimper of pain. 

Then, Olaf’s movements slowed, and he rested a hand on Fernald’s shoulder almost tenderly. “Relax, Hooky.” His hands travelled over Fernald’s hipbones, teasing, then up his sides, over his chest. Olaf closed his arms around Fernald’s waist and drew him back up to a kneeling position. That was better, much better, and Fernald couldn’t suppress a quiet moan. 

Olaf’s chest against his back was slick with sweat as he leaned closer to whisper into Fernald’s ear. “Do you like this?” Though the words could have been a taunt, Olaf sounded surprisingly sincere. 

Fernald nodded. Now that Olaf had lessened the violence of his motions, it had actually begun to feel pleasurable. And Olaf was so close to him, holding him in his arms, caressing his chest and arms before his hand dropped lower to Fernald’s cock. Olaf removed the condom that Esme had left on him, and then loosely curled a hand around his cock and began to stroke him.

Somehow, this helped Fernald work up the nerve to speak. “Am I--is this good for you?” he breathed.

“So good,” murmured Olaf. 

The words left Fernald trembling uncontrollably. He felt as if he might faint. 

Olaf kissed the back of his neck. “I meant it when I said you were my favorite,” he murmured. Fernald cried out softly, and for a moment, everything was all right. Olaf did care. He might not show it all the time, or often, or hardly at all, but that didn’t matter. He meant it--he _must_ mean it. He did love him, in his way. Olaf continued to stroke him, and kissed his shoulder again, and Fernald came. 

Immediately, Olaf began to slam into him faster and rougher, and it began to hurt.

“Boss--”

“Shh,” said Olaf. 

“I--but--”

And then Olaf’s hand closed around his throat, hard. He couldn’t breathe, and, flooded with panic, reached up to swat uselessly at Olaf’s clutching fingers. He couldn’t _do_ anything about it, couldn’t stop him, tried ineffectually to twist out of his grasp--and then Olaf grunted, went still, and released his hold on him. 

Gasping for breath, Fernald tried to make sense of it all. He’d done it--he’d had sex with Olaf, something he’d been fantasizing about for literal years. Now things would be different, now everything would be all right--now Esme was giving Olaf a look that he didn’t quite understand. 

“Did you enjoy yourself?” she asked coldly. 

Olaf’s manner changed immediately, as if a switch had been flipped. “With _him_? What do you think?” He pulled out of Fernald and pushed him roughly to the floor.

“Come, darling, I need a shower.” Esme’s gaze flicked over Fernald with a sting he hadn’t thought possible from a mere look. “I need to wash away your henchman’s _inadequacy_.”

Fernald looked up at Olaf, sure that his incomprehension was written across his face. 

“Oh...Hooky,” he chuckled unpleasantly. “You thought I meant all that, didn’t you?”

Esme’s evil, trilling laugh barely registered as she and Olaf left the room, leaving Fernald sprawled on the floor, naked and bleeding and hurt beyond words.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least canon also is super vague about the amount of time passing, so I don't feel as bad about being totally unable to keep track of it
> 
> Also, Fernald has a little bit of denial going on

~A few days later~

Although it was nearly two in the morning when the knock sounded at the door, Rory answered it anyway, and Fernald stumbled inside. He looked a complete wreck.

“Are you all right?” they asked in concern, closing the door behind him. 

“Not really.”

“Why don’t you sit down?” suggested Rory calmly. “Would you like a cup of tea?” 

Fernald shook his head wretchedly.

“A glass of wine?”

Fernald shook his head again. He looked on the verge of tears.

“...would you like a hug?”

Fernald closed his eyes hard, and for a moment remained motionless. Then, hesitantly, he nodded. 

Rory lightly embraced Fernald, and after a moment, he seemed to relax, and rested his forehead against their shoulder. This was very unlike him--normally, he was so stoic. Something terrible must have happened. 

“I’ve been worried about you,” said Rory.

Fernald looked up quickly, and then, as if embarrassed by his momentary vulnerability, stepped back, folded his arms, and turned away. “Me? Why? Why should you care what happens to me? Especially after you--the troupe--left, and I wasn’t strong enough to go with you.”

“Um, okay, that’s based on so many faulty assumptions I’m not even sure where to begin,” said Rory, “but either way, that doesn’t make it any less true.”

Fernald merely shrugged. Rory made their way into the apartment’s cramped kitchen and put on the tea kettle. When they turned around, Fernald had sunk into a chair at the kitchen table.

“It really doesn’t feel like it’s only been a week since we talked last,” said Fernald.

“It hasn’t been,” Rory pointed out. “It’s been, like, what, four days?”

“It’s hard to keep track,” murmured Fernald. “It seems like longer with everything that’s happened. There were the Snow Scouts...and the submarine...and my sister. Actually she’s the one who told me I should come here tonight.”

“Well, I’m glad she did. Wait, what was that about a submarine?”

Fernald haltingly summarized the events of the past few days as Rory retrieved teacups from the cupboard, measured out tea leaves, and poured the hot water. 

“That sounds like a lot,” they said, setting two cups of tea onto the table.

“Also,” said Fernald, “I did something really stupid.”

“What’s that?” 

“I slept with Olaf,” he confessed.

“You did?” Whatever Rory had expected him to say, it hadn’t been that. “Wait, how is that stupid? You’ve had a thing for him, like, forever.”

Fernald stared. “You--how did you know?”

“I mean, I know there’s a lot of things I don’t pick up on, but I’m not _that_ oblivious.”

Fernald groaned and lowered his face to rest against his hooks. 

Of course, as usual they’d gone and said the wrong thing, and now he looked even sadder than he had when he’d arrived. “I’m sorry,” said Rory quickly. “I didn’t mean it. It was kind of a joke, but not a very good one.”

Fernald didn’t look up.

“This has you really upset, doesn’t it?” they pressed. “What happened?”

“The whole thing just...didn’t go very well. And Esme was there, and I, er, I sort of slept with her, too.”

Rory paused with their teacup in the air. “No way. Did she, like, walk in on you and Olaf, or what?” _Stop it_ , Rory told themselves desperately. They shouldn’t be prying like this--obviously something had happened to make Fernald very unhappy, but the words just kept coming out as if of their own accord.

Fernald finally sat up. “She was the one who started it! It wasn’t as if I would have done anything with her if she hadn’t made me.”

“She...made you?” Rory repeated. The room had gone cold. God, they had really, really screwed up, asking about it like this--no wonder Fernald was so upset. He’d probably never speak to them again after they’d shown this level of ineptitude.

“Well, I mean, she didn’t really _make_ me. I could have stopped her, if I’d wanted. I could have said no. But I didn’t.”

“Why not?” they asked.

__Fernald took a sip of his tea. “Because it was what Olaf wanted. And he--I’m sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear the details.”_ _

__“It’s okay,” they reassured him. “If it’ll help you to talk about it, go for it.” Inwardly, they were cringing at their own words. Fernald was going to think they were a total creep, practically begging him to tell about his traumatic sexual experiences. That wasn’t exactly how they’d meant it, but they were sure it probably seemed like that._ _

__Fernald nodded, took a breath, and began to speak. Rory forced themselves to stay silent as he told the story, though it hurt them to hear what he’d gone through._ _

__“That’s it, really,” Fernald concluded. “I didn’t tell my sister any of it, obviously, but she could tell something was up.”_ _

__“There’s so much about that that isn’t okay,” Rory burst out._ _

__“Nobody forced me,” Fernald insisted. “I never said no. I could have walked away, if I’d wanted.” He took another drink of tea, and blinked sadly. “I just thought--if I finally had the chance to make Olaf want me like that, then things would change. But it didn’t work.”_ _

__“He must have meant a lot to you,” they said softly._ _

__“I loved him.”_ _

__Rory felt as if they’d been struck across the face, but they continued to nod sympathetically. “I’m sorry.”_ _

__“Or at least I thought I did,” Fernald continued. “Maybe I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I’ve only ever felt romantic love three times in my life. Or maybe I should call it attraction--the two sort of go hand in hand for me, but maybe I just can’t tell the difference.” He paused and looked up at them. “It’s not like that for everyone else, is it?”_ _

__“Um...not for most people, no,” they said. “But that’s okay if it’s different for you.”_ _

__Fernald sighed. “Esme called me defective. I guess it’s true.”_ _

__“That’s--that’s an evil thing to say.”_ _

__“Evil?” repeated Fernald, raising his eyebrows._ _

__“Yes,” said Rory firmly. Maybe they were being overdramatic, but they didn’t care. She’d made Fernald believe there was something _wrong_ with him. “And it isn’t true.”_ _

__“Are you sure?”_ _

__Rory couldn’t come up with any words to respond properly, so they just patted his arm and nodded in affirmation._ _

__“For a while,” Fernald went on, gazing off into the distance, or rather, into the kitchen, “I thought I’d never care for anyone again after my fiance left me. Until I met Olaf.”_ _

__“I never realized you were engaged before,” said Rory. “Wait, sorry, I know that’s not the point right now.”_ _

__Fernald’s gaze dropped down to the teacup in front of him. “He left me after the incident at Anwhistle Aquatics. I don’t blame him.”_ _

__“Hey, it isn’t your fault. A lot of relationships don’t survive a major catastrophe.”_ _

__Fernald toyed absently with his teacup. “You’re probably right. Thanks, by the way.”_ _

__Rory looked at him in puzzlement. What could he possibly have to thank them for?_ _

__“For making it easier to talk about this,” he clarified. “You just seem to know the right things to ask.”_ _

__Rory was absolutely floored. They’d actually said the _right_ things, in the right way? _ _

__“No big deal,” they murmured. “Don’t worry about it.”_ _

__“Well, thank you for listening to me, anyway,” said Fernald. He gave a rueful smile. “I suppose I’m just not meant to be in a relationship.”_ _

__Rory couldn’t stand it, seeing Fernald so sad and hopeless. “What about the third person?”_ _

__Fernald froze. “What about them?” he asked carefully._ _

__“Well, you said there was a third person you had feelings for. Why discount that possibility? Or is that someone from the past, too?”_ _

__Fernald suddenly became quite preoccupied with his teacup. “The third person is, er, someone that I’ve treated very badly in pursuit of someone else. At one point, I even thought they might have returned my feelings, but I ignored them because...because I was extremely foolish. And I’ve taken advantage of their kindness far too much. I don’t think I could ever make up for it.”_ _

__Was Fernald saying what they thought he was saying? They got up and paced around the kitchen so that he couldn’t see their expression, couldn’t see their naive hope in case they were wrong._ _

__“Um...maybe...maybe if this person knew the whole story, and understood what it was like to feel like their options were pretty limited outside of being someone’s bizarre fetish...they might not hold it against you too much.”_ _

__Rory glanced back at Fernald quickly, just in time to see him hurriedly look away from them. They went back to the table, paused behind Fernald, and tentatively rested a hand on his shoulder._ _

__“Maybe,” they went on, “maybe after a while, once you’re in a better state of mind, if you apologized, I bet they’d probably forgive you.”_ _

__Fernald turned to look up at them hopefully over his shoulder. “Do you really think so?”_ _

__“I’m almost sure of it.”_ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So as I was glancing over the previous chapters, I realized that Fernald's clothes just...magically vanish during the previous sex scene. Oops.

Fernald walked through the darkened streets to Rory’s apartment. For the past month or so, he’d been living on the _Queequeg_ with his sister and coming into the city a couple times a week to visit Rory. They’d been seeing each other for the past few weeks...if one could call it that, Fernald thought in a moment of self-doubt. Maybe Rory didn’t really think of it that way since the two of them hadn’t slept together. He supposed he couldn’t really blame them if that was the case. 

The night he’d first gone there a month ago and told them the story of his encounter with Esme and Olaf, he’d slept on the sofa. Rory had brought him far more blankets than he needed--blankets that smelled like them, which had helped him fall asleep, although he certainly would never have told them so. 

The last time he’d stayed over, nearly a week ago, he’d slept in their bed. Nothing had happened. Rory had held him close as they fell asleep, but hadn’t made a move. Maybe they didn’t actually want him? But then again, they’d let him kiss them, and were casually affectionate in a way that he’d never seen them act toward anyone else, and--perhaps, he thought, the sensible thing would be to ask them directly. 

Fernald knocked on the door, and when Rory opened it, the apartment was dark, lit by flickering candlelight. 

“Hey,” they said. “I missed you.”

Fernald stepped inside and looked around. The windows were open, and the light breeze carried with it the scent of the spring’s first magnolia blossoms. Soft instrumental music emanated from somewhere unseen. 

“What’s all this about?” Fernald wondered aloud. 

Rory looked embarrassed. “I thought it might be, um...romantic or something, but it was probably stupid, I’m sorry, I just thought…”

“No! No. It is,” Fernald reassured them. “I was just surprised--you really did all this for me?”

They nodded cautiously. 

That settled any doubts that had been in Fernald’s mind. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before. That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.” He kissed them, and god, the way they practically melted into it and gave a tiny sigh as he let go of them. 

Rory looked as if they were going to speak, but stopped.

“What is it?” asked Fernald. 

They shook their head. “Nothing, really. I felt like I should say something, but everything that comes to mind is awkward and stupid and would just ruin the moment, and…”

“Don’t worry, love. You’re not ruining anything.”

And now they were giving him a dreamy-eyed look as they cupped his face in their hands and gently kissed him again. They let him take control, and he deepened the kiss, pulling them closer against him, and again that _sigh_. Rory was holding onto him almost protectively, and gave a barely perceptible moan as he kept kissing them. 

Fernald pushed Rory back onto the sofa, climbing into their lap, straddling their hips. He kissed them hard and tried to resist the urge to move against them, but then they shifted their position slightly, and god, the friction between them--

Fernald broke the kiss and met their eyes, breathing hard. “Make love to me,” he whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

Rory kissed him again--in fact, didn’t stop kissing him in some way or another even as the two of them removed their clothing, piece by piece. Neither was in any particular hurry. As they leaned down to kiss the hollow of his throat, it finally occurred to Fernald that he could do the same things to them--or rather, that he had the confidence to actually chance it. And as he kissed them and touched them, they _reacted_ , and--that was extremely encouraging, not to mention a major turn on. 

Before long, the two of them had moved to the bedroom, and Fernald sank down onto the bed as Rory kissed down his chest and stomach before pausing briefly to look up at him. “Is this okay?”

“God, yes.” 

They kissed the head of his cock just as gently as they’d kissed everywhere else, light kisses and licks, and and it was almost too much, it would be over too soon.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me do that.”

“Let you…?” Rory gave him a puzzled look. “That seems, um, physically improbable?”

“What? No, no. Not to myself, sweetheart. To you.”

“Oh,” they said. “ _Oh_.”

And--yes, god, yes, they were letting him take their cock into his mouth. He loved doing this, at least when it was with someone he really wanted. And they were making sounds like they _needed_ this, needed _him_ \--

Fernald pulled back and looked up at them. “I want you, now.”

Rory nodded. “Come here.”

They kissed him again, holding him close, stroking his back, and it barely registered when they took one hand away to rummage in the nearby dresser drawer. Then both their hands were on his hips, drawing him closer against them, and _finally_ he felt their fingers between his ass cheeks, cool and slick and tracing circles around his hole until he was pressing back against their hand insistently. 

“I want you inside me.”

They obliged, and his breathing hitched as their fingers slid into him and quickly found the right spot to reduce him to whimpers and pleas. God, he needed their cock in him, needed it _now_ , but Rory just kept kissing him and nuzzling at his throat and he couldn’t take it much longer, and--

“Are you ready?” they asked. 

He nodded desperately. “God, yes, please--please.” He lay back on the bed, and now Rory was above him, and he couldn’t stop himself shuddering as they entered him. 

“Are you okay?”

“Feels--amazing,” he managed. “Keep going.” 

And it really was amazing, the way they kissing him and touching him, gently stroking his face. Fernald found that he wasn’t forcing himself to be quiet, instead allowing himself to voice his enjoyment as they moved slowly in and out of him, his legs around their waist. Their hand moved lower, fingertips grazing his throat, hand splayed against his chest, palm over his heart, and they were gazing down at him like--like--

“I love you,” Rory said softly.

“Love you too,” breathed Fernald. 

Now Rory’s hand was between the two of them, working his cock, and it was all too much--

“You’re--you’re going to make me come.”

“Good.” They stroked him harder, and he cried out, arching off the bed as pleasure overtook him, only barely aware of Rory finishing right after him, burying their face against his shoulder. 

As Fernald lay there, coming back down to reality, he had a moment of panic--what if that was all they’d wanted him for? What if--?

“Babe, come here,” Rory whispered. “I need you.” 

And just like that, the worry was gone, their sincerity so evident in their voice that he couldn’t imagine why he’d ever felt doubt. Fernald turned over, taking Rory in his arms and holding them close.


End file.
